


you're the boss

by retorica



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationship, F/M, Fucked Up, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Rock Star AU, kylo ren likes to toy with rey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-07 17:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6815800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retorica/pseuds/retorica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo Ren is a moody asshole & the lead singer of the popular band, First Order. Rey is his frustrated & flustered PR agent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. door hinge

 

“You really have to stop trashing your hotel rooms.”

Rey felt proud of herself. She was becoming braver around Kylo Ren, and it had only taken two months to get here.

In her defense, her client was quite intimidating. He was difficult, demanding, erratic…and a famous rockstar with a healthy following and a fat bank account to boot. As PR agents went, she was well paid and her position was enviable. But sometimes, she really felt like quitting. It wasn’t easy negotiating with hotel managers.

Phasma and Hux never gave her this much trouble. They were the two other members of _First Order_. The band had been steadily growing in popularity for the last three years and had reached its peak this year with three consecutive hits in the top charts. Of course, if you mentioned this fact to Kylo, he would have scalped you. He hated charts, billboards, internet reviews, the _Pitchfork_ , anything that had to do with evaluating his music – even when most of those evaluations were positive. He also absolutely abhorred being reminded his real name was _not_ Kylo Ren.

Rey had learned what to say and not to say around him. _First Order_   had changed over _six_ PR agents in the span of three years, all because of him. The only person that was never removed from office was the band manager and record producer, S.L. Snoke. He was a creepy old man who had been in the music industry for _centuries_ , but for some reason Kylo Ren trusted his instincts completely. He refused to switch to any other label, despite people advising him otherwise. Phasma and Hux usually went with whatever their lead singer thought was right.

Which meant it was up to Rey to speak up and try to mitigate Kylo’s unprofessional behavior. This was easier said than done, given his track record. She had to walk a fine line not to upset him. It made quitting a very tempting option.

Yet, she was still here. In the ruined hotel room.

Kylo was smoking on the balcony. He was in one of his moods, as usual.

“Did you hear me?” she insisted, not willing to chicken out just yet.

He sauntered back into the room in his low-cut jeans - the type uncle Luke would have called 'excessive' - and he removed his shirt with one fluid motion, discarding it on the floor, along with the cigarette butt.

“Taking a shower,” he informed her indifferently.

Rey noticed the cigarette was still lit. She quickly stomped her foot on the carpet to prevent a small fire. That _almost_ happened at _Hotel 41_ in London.

“And you’ve ruined another pair of my sneakers, thanks,” she muttered under her breath.

He raised an eyebrow. “Help yourself to the minibar. You need it.”

Rey bit her tongue and let that one slide. Her employer was half-naked and grumpy. It was not smart to engage with him.

Kylo walked into the bathroom, not even bothering to shut the door behind him. Not that he _could_. He had broken the door out of its hinges. Thankfully, he hadn’t also torn the shower curtain.

Rey could already feel a morning headache coming on and it was only ten a.m.

She leaned against the wall and contemplated the broken door. Two months ago she might have been shocked, but working for him had made her more or less impervious to violence.

 “What happened last night?”

“What happens every night,” came his prompt reply.

_Okay, easy now._

“Yes, but…you usually don’t unhinge doors.”

“Creative outlet,” he offered tersely. 

“Came up with a new song?” she asked with faux-optimism.

“Fuck no. But I’m halfway there. One more door down,” he replied sardonically.

Rey shook her head wearily. “I hope that’s a joke.”

“You never know.”

And it’s true, she never did. He kept pulling one stunt after another.

“So, we’ll be landing in Berlin around four p.m. There’ll be a small meet-up with some fans at the airport. Don’t worry, you’re only going to talk to one reporter and I’ve already discussed questions with him. I’ve got the hotel and room service arranged. Just tell me if you want to go out or stay in. Phasma and Hux would like to grab a drink later.”

“No reporter. And how old are these fans?”

Rey rolled her eyes. So it would be one of _those_ nights. Checking IDs and making sure the girls knew what they were doing.  

“Sixteen to twenty-six,” she answered, trying not to sound judgmental. “You know, Phasma and Hux want you to come with them.”

“They told you this personally?”

“Of course.”

The shower curtain was pushed aside. Rey averted her eyes quickly.

“Liar,” he muttered and stalked in with a towel around his hips.

Rey wondered how he wasn’t freezing. It was the middle of November and the balcony doors were still wide open, letting in the cold air. Was this another one of his ‘badass’ affectations?

She hadn’t realized Kylo was watching her.

“Well,” she stuttered quickly, “they’d definitely _like_ the idea. If you gave them a chance.”

“Uh-huh. I’m in the mood for a redhead, tall, not too tall. College freshman.”

“Do you want dessert with that too?” she asked before she could help herself. She really didn’t mean to be scathing, but she _hated_ having to ‘okay’ his sexual partners.

He stared at her for a good minute and a half, during which she tried not to flinch or fidget. He was one of those people who could stare at you for hours. But mercifully, he broke the spell and stepped into her personal space without much preamble. She tried not to look at the sea of freckles on his chest.

“I think you have something for me.”

Her mouth fell open slightly. “What?”

He nudged his head at the door.

_Oh, right. Idiot._

Rey picked up the fresh laundry she’d left on the floor and handed him his clothes.

“Thanks, Rey-Rey.”

Rey groaned inwardly. She hated that stupid nickname and all its childish implications. One of these days….

“Breakfast will be on the jet. I’ll leave you to it,” she informed him coolly, not relishing having to go explain _and_ pay for the mess he’d made.

She was almost at the door when he tapped her shoulder. When she turned around, he was holding something between his fingers.

“For all your hard work.”

Kylo dropped the door hinge in her palm.

She could have slapped him.


	2. guitar pick

 

All she really wanted was to get some shut-eye on the jet. It was a three-hour flight, just perfect for a power nap. She’d scheduled everything there was to be scheduled. Hux was watching a movie, Phasma was playing a video game, and Kylo was reading a book. The bodyguards were…doing whatever bodyguards did when they got bored. She hadn’t bothered to check.

She grabbed a blanket and settled comfortably in her seat. When…

“Rey-Rey. Wake up.”

Rey turned sideways, narrowly avoiding hitting his chest. “What is it?”

Kylo was bent over her seat, eyes flickering with a neurotic brand of amusement. This wasn’t good.

“I can’t find Sith.”

Rey sat up. “Your guitar pick?”

“No. That _other_ important thing I named after a famous cult.” 

Rey didn’t appreciate his sarcasm. She had enough on her plate already; she didn’t need to worry about this too. But Sith was “special”. Kylo never played a set without it, no matter the venue. It was just a black plectrum engraved with some silver runes that meant _nothing_ , as far as she could tell. But he often said all his brilliant ideas and the band’s greatest hits had come from that stupid guitar pick. It was named after some weird cult from the late 70s which, Wikipedia informed her, had ended with five dead teenagers and one Hollywood B-movie actress drowned in her own swimming pool. Apparently, the “Sith” movement was still an underground oddity that lived on. But she wasn’t interested to know more.

“Have you checked your hand luggage? I’m sure it’s there somewhere.”

“It’s not. Phasma was _pissed_ when I overturned her bag. Hux wouldn’t let me touch his. Says I have boundary issues.”

_Clearly_. Rey tried to suppress a sigh. She was fully awake now. “It’s probably in the big luggage then.”

“Pretty sure it’s back in Madrid.”

“…it’s a very small object, it could be anywhere.”

“No, I remember leaving it in the bathroom cabinet.”

“You… _ugh_ , honestly?” she expelled, trying hard not to raise her tone. “I’ll call the hotel first thing we land.”

“I think we should just fly back.”

“What?”

“Cancel Berlin gig, go back and find Sith. Poor guy must be scared and lonely.”

_It’s just a stupid wooden triangle_ , she wanted to say but, as always, she caught herself just in time.

“We can’t _cancel_   Berlin the day before the concert unless it’s an emergency.”

“This is a super emergency. One hundred percent.” His tone was deceptively light, but she knew exactly what kind of temper would break loose if Kylo didn’t have things his way.

Rey pinched the bridge of her nose. “You don’t want to play tomorrow? Fine, we’ll try to extend our stay and reschedule the show, but we can’t just –”

“Look, it’s a moot point. I can’t play on _any_ day without Sith.”

Rey was going to lose her marbles. “Let me go alone then. I’ll fly back to Madrid and get it back for you.”

“I don’t trust you with him.”

“Are you afraid I’ll chip it?” she asked sardonically, but her client was no longer listening.

“Tell the pilot to turn us around.  We’re heading back to Madrid. That’s final,” he said, walking away.

Rey counted back from ten and imagined she was swimming with the dolphins in her happy place. She then decided to go talk to Phasma and Hux.

“Drama queen obviously doesn’t want to play tomorrow,” Hux informed her, eyes still glued to his laptop.

“Yeah, I gathered. Can’t you guys convince him otherwise?”

Phasma was busy killing orcs, but she managed to look up and snort. “Better luck convincing me _Beck_ is not a total farce of an artist.”

Rey hadn’t expected them to pitch in and help, but this was dispiriting.

“So, you’re okay with missing this gig?”

“We have Denmark and Norway booked. So, I’m not worried yet,” Hux said, casually indifferent.

“We might not make those gigs either if he doesn’t find his guitar pick.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it will mysteriously show up sometime this week. It’s happened before,” he replied, already bored with the conversation.

_Mysteriously show up, huh?_

She cornered Kylo on his way to the bathroom.

“Rey-Rey. Was just about to micturate.”

Rey blinked, startled. “Mictu- _what_?”

“It’s Latin for pee. Have you talked to the pilot?”

She noticed the book he was holding in his hand.

“Did you learn that from…” she trailed off, squinting at the title, “ _I, Claudius_?”

“Hilarious,” he replied moodily. “Now, if you don’t want to witness any waterworks -”

“Could you please empty your pockets for me?” she blurted out, blocking his path.

Her client took a step back and regarded her with surprise.

“Excuse me?”

Rey straightened her back. “Empty your pockets for me, please.”

“At least buy me some dinner first, Rey-Rey,” he teased, although his tone was flat and his eyes were surveying her impatiently.

“I need you to empty your pockets for safety purposes,” she repeated, extending her hand.

Kylo scratched the back of his head with the spine of his book. He looked like a big lazy cat, uncertain of how to tackle the brave little mouse.

“What do you think you’ll find in my pockets?” he challenged.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to see for myself,” she stood her ground.

“Fine. See for yourself.” He opened his arms and let them fall by his side.

It took Rey a few moments to realize what she was supposed to do.

She knew what was at stake. She was _not_ going back to Madrid, and she was _not_ going to cancel the Berlin show.

Inhaling shortly, she took a step forward and dug one reluctant hand into his pocket. She felt weird and creepy, like an old aunt who enjoyed looking through her nephew’s sock drawer. She shook her head to dismiss the image. Maz was a _great_ aunt, after all.

Rey could feel his warm skin through the jeans. She wanted to be anywhere else right now, but she persevered, because _damn_ it, she wasn’t going to cancel the gig.

She fished out a box of matches and a small pencil that was severely bitten at one end.

“Charming,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose. She ignored Kylo Ren’s smirk and dug into his other pocket with determination. She was going to get to the bottom of this.

This one was empty, save for a candy wrapper. Which was…not actually a candy wrapper.  

Rey turned tomato red as she extracted a condom wrapper and let it fall down between them.

Kylo scoffed. “I’m not picking that up.”

She wasn’t going to either. They stood like that awkwardly for a moment.

“Satisfied, Rey-Rey?” he asked, eventually.

“This is not over,” she muttered under her breath and let him pass. She heard Kylo chuckle behind her, but he would not have the last laugh.

 

Or would he?

She searched through his luggage angrily while he was occupied in the bathroom, but she found no sign of a guitar pick hidden in the folds of his shirts or the spiral notebooks in which he wrote down ideas or in his laptop case.

_Bloody brilliant._

The asshole could have dropped it anywhere from here to Madrid. Except…no, he wouldn’t risk losing Sith. He probably still had the damn thing on him somewhere, but….Rey didn’t want to strip him down to find out. The pocket-experience had been embarrassing enough.

_Hang on…_

She suddenly had an idea.

She stood outside the bathroom stall and tapped on the door.

“Occupied,” Kylo muttered predictably.

“It's in the book isn't it?” she said, waiting to hear his reaction.

There was none.

“Sith. You’re using it as a bookmark, aren’t you?” she tried again.

“Wrong. He’s in Madrid,” was his boss’ muffled reply.

“So if I come in there right now, I won’t find it inside the book?”

“…the door’s locked.”

“I can get an emergency key from the stewardess,” she replied confidently. She wasn’t sure about that, actually.

“You’d walk in on me with my pants down?”

“If I have to.” She hoped she didn’t.

“That’s not very professional, Rey-Rey.”

“So is canceling a perfectly good show in Berlin.”

He didn’t bother to reply to that. So, she pressed on. “Look, your only options are to throw it in the toilet, which you wouldn’t do, because you’d never recover it again, or to hide it on you, which would be even worse, because I’d find it. So, let me know what you decide on.”

She swore she heard him curse under his breath. She hoped this wasn’t going to backfire and end with him throwing a tantrum.

The door suddenly opened with an angry lurch.

“That stick up your ass. You should take it out,” he muttered, meaning to move past her, but Rey held up her palm expectantly.

“I’ll hold onto it until we land, please.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“I can do this all day.” No, not exactly. She _really_  needed some shut-eye.

Rey feared that he’d put up a fight, but he slammed the guitar pick in her open palm and walked away morosely.

“Thank you,” she called after him sweetly. He replied with a middle finger in the air.

 

 

Rey collapsed on her bed, face in her pillow. The _Sofitel_ had soft sheets, she could give them that. She had to shower, eat, go back downstairs to talk to one of the concert organizers who was meeting her in the hotel lobby, and then drive out with him to see the venue again.

Her phone buzzed.

It was a Twitter alert from _First Order_ , signed by Kylo Ren.

_WHAT!?_

He almost never posted anything on the band’s official Twitter. In fact, he thought Twitter was a disgusting excuse for “navel-gazing”. What on Earth had compelled him?

_All female fans, of the redhead variety, meet me at Hotel Sofitel, number –_

“Shit,” she expelled, jumping up from the bed. He’d given the hotel’s exact address.

The tweet exploded, of course. Thousands upon thousands of retweets, making sure everyone knew Kylo Ren was holding a goddamn audition for a sexual partner.

Rey balled her hands into fists and marched up to his room. Oh, she was _not_ going to pull any punches this time.

“I’m sorry, have you gone insane? What is the meaning of this?”

“I did say I want a redhead,” he reminded her calmly. He was lying in bed with a shrimp salad balanced on his stomach (she’d ordered it for him, thanks very much), writing something in one of his spiral notebooks.

“Yes, but something _discreet_. I find you a groupie and you _don’t_ tweet about it. This is a media disaster!” she said, waving the phone in his face.

“Good thing I have a PR agent,” he replied serenely.

Rey pinched the bridge of her nose. “Is this because of the guitar pick?”

He shrugged. “Hey, you wanted to do Berlin so badly. So let’s _do_   Berlin. If you know what I mean,” he winked.

Rey wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. You’re –” _disgusting, terrible, the worst_.  All true things. But she settled for “– going to regret this when five thousand girls line up in the street.”

“I’m touched you think that many will show up,” he said in his usual dead-pan, but she could hear the humor underneath it. He was _so_ enjoying this.

“I’m sure we can figure out which one’s got the right assets,” he mused, popping a shrimp in his mouth.

“ _We_?”

“Well, yeah. I need a second opinion.”

“First of all, I’m going to turn away anyone under eighteen, and then I’m going to send the rest home too because this is _absurd_.”

“You’re a harsh critic, Rey-Rey. I bet we’ll find a real _Gewinner_.”

She tried counting back to ten, but she couldn’t focus on swimming with the dolphins in her happy place. Damn him, he’d ruined her happy place.

“That’s German for ‘winner’, by the way.”

“Yeah, I figured,” she snapped, wishing she could choke him with a shrimp.

He got up, juggling his salad bowl on his chest and walked up to the window, pulling away the curtains.

Rey joined him warily.

She groaned. Already, a small group was queuing up at the hotel entrance.  

Kylo Ren smirked like a total asshole. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea on the brain for ages, and I simply never felt brave enough to write it. But now I simply have to see this scenario unfold, so I'm writing this as much for me as for you, kind reader, whoever you are.


End file.
